Limited Exercise

Only a few days, hours even, after leaving my exercise regimen I am short of breath and heavy of step.  Alone for five minutes in a day of plentiful company, I utilize this brief companionless interlude with a stint of exercise.  A thin coat of sweat adorns my face and I draw my sky-blue shirt across my brow, darkening its hue with a smudge of salty wet.  Foul shots.  Focus, the cool down is nigh.  Quiet pervades the gym cracked by the sharp pounding of the ball dribbled on the slick floor.  My eyes bore into the hoop.  Doink.  My breath still comes out a bit labored.  Fatigue inhibits the focus.  Remove the fatigue.  Feel nothing.  Rhythm, concentration, motion, action.  I have improved.  My muscles' memories of the layups I was hurling before fade and dry with the sweat on my shirt.  Contentment seeps through me as I drill four more shots in a row.  Fabulous.  Depositing the basketball on the counter operated by a girl with a bored countenance I utter, "Thanks," and jog briskly off.  Five minutes of exercise is better than none, I suppose.